


last thing that we should do is go slow

by HappilyOblivious



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Also boys sitting in a car hood, Boys Being Idiots, Boys fighting, Cars, Fist Fights, M/M, Out of Character, but what's new, kavinsky is an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3456740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappilyOblivious/pseuds/HappilyOblivious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan was dreaming with Kavinsky.</p>
<p>He was dreaming. With. Kavinsky.</p>
<p>Fucking. Kavinsky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	last thing that we should do is go slow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GarnetAles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarnetAles/gifts).



> The title is from the song Lurk by The Neighborhood.

  
Ronan was dreaming with Kavinsky.

He was dreaming. With. Kavinsky.

Fucking Kavinsky.

The odds that he had found another dreamer were near impossible, and the chances that Ronan would know the other dreamer must have been fallen somewhere in the negatives.

So, naturally, it had to be Kavinsky.

The only good thing that could come from this weekend was that Ronan had just dreamt up a new Camaro. Hopefully a genuine replacement for the one he had crashed.

He grinned, momentarily ignoring the presence carefully watching him. Or more accurately, his ass. (Ronan had caught Kavinsky scanning his body multiple times throughout their time together, and not knowing how else to react, Ronan had let it slide.)

Hands shaking with nervous anticipation, Ronan reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the Camaro he had dreamt up what felt like hours ago.

Ronan gingerly opened the driver's side door as though he thought it would crack if he was too rough with it. He swung inside and settled into the leather seat behind the steering wheel.

In his peripheral vision, Ronan saw Kavinsky drunkenly lean against the hood of the Camaro, elbow propping his weight. He curled his hand into a fist and pounded lightly on the metal surface. Smirking, he flicked his eyebrows at Ronan through the window, sunglasses catching the lowering sun and flashing sharply.

With the window rolled down, Ronan was close enough to smell the Cabeswater on Kavinsky. He hesitated, breathing in dreams and smoothing over the butterflies in his stomach.

"Go on and try it Lynch. Don't wait for my permission."

Ronan snarled at Kavinsky through the window and glided the key into the ignition. He turned it, and...nothing.

Heart sinking, Ronan twisted the key again hoping for the Pig's signature growl. He tried it twice more before becoming upset, a rackety panic shining his eyes.

He pulled the key out and shoved it back in, too desperate for the Camaro's roar to worry about being too rough.

Still silence.

Outside, Kavinsky laughed loudly and slid his fingertips across the hood, moving to the front of the car looking directy at Ronan. He was drunk and giddy on dreams.

"Well now let's just see what's the problem here," He snapped open the hood of the Camaro which groaned in retaliation at the fast motion.

Kavinsky took a single glance at the inside of the Pig, and guffawed loud enough to make Ronan start.

"There's your fucking problem Lynch," Kavinsky snickered as Ronan leapt out of the Camaro and slid around to the opened hood. "You're missing something!"

Ronan was indeed missing something. The something he was missing was the goddamned engine.

Trying to drown out Kavinsky's drunken cackling, Ronan squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a knuckle hard into the bridge of his nose.

For fucks sake, this wasn't fucking fair! Nothing was anymore. Ever since...hell, Ronan couldn't even remember the last time luck went his way.

Ronan never got to let his feelings out. He couldn't just blurt out his mind's workings whenever his heart desired. It just wasn't socially acceptable for Ronan to discuss how he felt. Life simply didn’t work that way.

Nearly nothing pleasant ever came from the Lynch's. At least three-fifths of the family had been tough bastards who didn't care what the others were doing, so long as everyone was still alive at the end of the day.

Ronan hated to admit it, but it was the undeniable truth. He grew up far too fast. He knew that if he was vulnerable he would be ripped apart in a world like his. That was the one and only thing he had to give night horrors credit for.

So he kept his feelings under tight lock and key. If he wanted them shown, he would pluck them out, but for the most part he would hide them away as his own personal demons.

Ronan would never make someone deal with his mind if they didn't want to. Even with Gansey and Matthew, two people who actually gave a shit about him, he wouldn't skip around announcing his feelings at them. He'd probably give Matthew nightmares, and Gansey an aneurism.

But now, oh now, Ronan had someone he wanted to force his feelings on. Someone who was drunk, high, and roaring with laughter beside him. Someone who Ronan didn't give a shit if he ‘accidentally’ hospitalized or not.

Kavinsky.

Fucking. Kavinsky.

Ronan tried holding back for a single more heartbeat, and Kavinsky took that time to blurt out his shitty two-cents.

"Poor Dickie will be so disappointed."

If Ronan was having doubts about taking his anger out peacefully, they flew out the window.

Needless to say, Ronan snapped.

He fought like he would with his night terrors. Silent and to the point. Ronan gripped Kavinsky by the nape of his neck and slammed his cheek into the hood of the Camaro, laughter abruptly cutting off.

Kavinsky's yelp was drowned out by a loud crunch. The lenses of his sunglasses had shattered, leaving red silt on his cheek where a broken shard of black lens had cut into his face. There was to more glass left in the frames, and Kavinsky was glaring at him, his eyes clearly visible and bloodshot in the evening light.

Kavinsky widened his mouth to snarl something, but was stopped by a thin stream of blood dripping down from his nose into his opened mouth.

Both Ronan and Kavinsky watched as scarlet drops landed onto the palm of Kavinsky's opened hand. Kavinsky straightened up, looking at Ronan with something like frustrated shock. His upper lip was curled up over straight teeth, and he looked stupidly attractive.

That observation made Ronan angrier than he thought was humanly possible. Then again, he doubted he would still even be considered human.

Lunging at him, Ronan drove his knee into Kavinsky's side, feeling the air leave his lungs with an audible whoof.

Being fed up with Ronan's apparently unnecessary attack Kavinsky dug his nails into Ronan's neck, and left four, deep, parallel scratches that quickly filled up with blood. Ronan hissed in pain and pushed away from Kavinsky the same time as Kavinsky tried shoved him backwards.

Ronan tumbled into the empty hole of the Camaro where the engine should have been. He shot his hands out behind him to ease his fall, but only succeeded in twisting his wrist into a position that made his nerves scream, and landing hard on his tailbone.

"Not fucking funny anymore, Lynch!" Kavinsky growled, clutching where Ronan had buried his knee into his ribs.

"Wasn't fucking funny to begin with." Ronan shot back, clutching his wrist to his collarbone. It ached, and felt hot to the touch. Ronan thought it might have been sprained.

He groaned, collapsing on his back, the grass from the field poking sharply into his skin. He had used all his energy on stealing from his dreams and attacking Kavinsky.

From above him Kavinsky sneered down at Ronan, wiping his hand across his upper lip and chin, trying in vain to clean the blood off his face. "Serves you right. Goddamn."

Ronan hardly had the strength to glare at him, but there was a special reserve of energy set aside for Ronan's anger when he felt there was nothing more to give. It was probably kept somewhere close to his heart.

Kavinsky only grunted at Ronan's venomous scowl. "Move." He commanded, and fell down next to Ronan through the open hood of the Pig. Not waiting for a response, let alone giving Ronan time to move, he half landed on him, jostling Ronan's burning wrist. Kavinsky might have grunted out an apology, but that wasn't really his style, so Ronan doubted it.

He considered telling Kavinsky to leave, wanted to yell at him, and hit him, and scream at him, but his anger and adrenaline were fleeing far too quickly. Plus, something he'll never admit out loud, but Kavinsky's warm body so close to his was sleepily comforting.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, Ronan felt like doing something he hadn't wanted to do in years. He wanted to go to sleep.

It was becoming dark out, and the stars were showing themselves in the Virginian sky. The two boys spent a whole minute in silence, each just staring at the pinpricks of light, lost in their respective thoughts.

Ronan wondered how Kavinsky could even see the evening through his wasted state. Then he wondered if Kavinsky was always drunk, and if he was, would that make drunk his sober.

What a shitty way to live, always sober, Ronan mused, his eyelids becoming harder to hold up. Kavinsky's tolerance must be an entire fucking liquor store. Probably more.

Ronan broke the silence first with a long drawn out sigh. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kavinsky press his cheek against the grass to stare at him.

"'M so tired." Ronan murmured after another minute, his temper fully cooled. He was almost alarmed when his statement came out slurred, but he didn't have enough energy to be surprised.

Kavinsky didn't say anything in response, so Ronan rested his head the same way he had. They were looking directly at each other, and Ronan was aware that his breath had left his lungs.

His eyes were right there. His nose was right there. His lips were right there. He smelled like booze, blood, and Cabeswater.

Ronan discovered that he did, in fact, have enough life in him to feel his heart beat faster when Kavinsky stretched his neck out and lightly kissed the tip of Ronan's nose.

"Sleep then, if you're that tired. I won't wake you," Kavinsky murmured in a quiet way that Ronan had never heard from anyone before. Or, at least not directed towards him.

Not tough, bad boy, bane of the Raven Boys Ronan. Not Ronan who you were lucky if you could get him to say a single sincere sentence. Definitely not Ronan who only had two settings, angry and even angrier.

People just didn't talk to him like that. Who would ever be stupid enough to give Ronan Lynch a part of their heart?

Maybe it was that no one had ever been so kind to Ronan, or hell, maybe it was just because he was too damn tired, but Ronan shifted closer into Kavinsky's side, settling into him.

He could feel Kavinsky's heartbeat, and his chest rising up and down. He could feel vibrations when he softly spoke, using the same tone from before.

"Sleep, Ronan. Goddammit, do I have to knock you out?"

So, Ronan did.

He fell into his first dreamless dream in a long time. And he fell asleep next to Kavinsky.

Fucking Joseph Kavinsky.


End file.
